The Delicate Balance

Observed weather for 3/25/10 as of 0154 local time, 30 degrees Fahrenheit, winds 360 (due north) at 13 kts (gusts to 22 kts) with visibility of 10 statute miles.

My start time this evening was 0000 (midnight) to 0530. In Operations, it's known as the swing shift, providing a safety layer of dual coverage for the hours when the tower closes during winter operations. With only a few grains of sand left top-side of the winter operations hourglass, I'll take every minute of OT I can get. The well of winter overtime will soon be dry. I can easily justify these quick 5.5 hours shifts, knowing they'll be converted into comp time, redeemed to enjoy with my family on the shores of Lake Willoughby this June or absorbing sunshine on the beach in Ogunquit this August. But I digress.

The tower remained open 19 minutes late for Colgan 3256 this evening, arriving from Newark 96 minutes behind schedule at 0019. When the winds are out of the north and we are running a RWY 33 operation, the tower will usually stick around to control the aircraft on approach control (frequency 121.100), as long as the aircraft is reasonably close. Tuesday night, Colgan was not reasonably close, forcing them to delay departure until 0400 for a landing at approximately 0530 when the tower reopened for the next day's operations. Doing the math, that's a 6 hour and 45 minute delay. Not a good day in my book. I can only imagine the passengers in Newark, trying to get comfortable in the terminal, while the Newark janitorial staff cleans the terminal around them, silently cursing these fools sprawled out every which way. If you want my advice, if at all possible, never book the last flight home in the evening. You might get stuck in an airport all night, and you don't want to do that unless you're on the clock, like I am.

The aforementioned delay for Colgan began like this, when the tower, who keeps one of the airport's hand held radios, chimed in at 2330:

Tower: "garbled, tower."

Looking at my watch, I thought, was that for me?

Tower: "Ops, tower."

Oh, it's tower. They always seem to garble the first transmission on the airport hand held.

OPS: "Operations, go ahead."

Tower: "Yeah, I've got two flights on final right now, any other flights that you know of?"

OPS: "Colgan 3256, hasn't taken off, estimated arrival of 0123."

Tower: "Uhh, they haven't even taken off yet?", a level of disgust rippling through his voice. "I don't think we'll be sticking around that late. You say it hasn't even hasn't even taken off?"

Ops: "I'll go speak to their ground crew, have Colgan dispatch give you a call."

Tower: "With winds gusting to 20 kts, I don't think they'll be able to land."

OPS: "Roger that. I'll have their dispatch call you."

At this point, controller Steve and I both know the following; if he stays, the flight makes it. If he goes, the flight is likely delayed until 0530, when the tower reopens.

When the tower and an air carrier need to communicate, I try to remain neutral, give only the facts and let the two entities sort the details out. What I can tell you is this: The airline industry is a darn complicated creature. Combine the enormous expense of running an aircraft, mix in safety, weather and the federal government, and you've got a veritable nightmare always lurking around the corner. It's a delicate balance; the scales so frequently tipping in the wrong direction.

The situation at hand is specifically complicated because Boston Center is unable to guide aircraft in for a 33 approach due to terrain issues, mainly Camel's Hump sticking up too high on the RWY 33 approach. Aircraft can land with instruments or visually on RWY 15, given favorable weather conditions, calm wind or winds from the south. With winds gusting to 22 kts out of the north, a runway 15 approach is completely out of the question.

At 2350, Colgan dispatch calls to confirm what I already suspected; the 0530 arrival once the tower reopens. Sounds like Steve decided to get a good night's sleep. I guess it's hard to blame the guy.

Back to tonight. (2300)

The temperature outside is dropping, forecast to hit 18 degrees by 0700. Departing from the south, namely Richmond, my 13-mile trip to BTV is spent fearing the worst. I departed at 2310, driving our 1997 Volvo 850 Wagon, a powerful, low-riding tank, ready for any weather condition Vermont may offer. A steady rain falling, the roads were soaked and the temperature gauge in the Volvo read 34 degrees outside. Not good. I had set my alarm for 2300, opting for a pre-work nap; not enough time to properly warm the car up.

Driving along the relatively flat Route 2, I make my way North and West, creeping toward the airport, my eyes shifting between the road and the temperature gauge every few seconds. 33 degrees. Four miles into the trip, the heated seats began to work their magic (Boy have I become a wimp). Climbing French Hill, my imagination drifted to the realities of an icy runway, poor braking, delayed flights; the scales beginning to tip... Had the guys called in crew already? How many flights were left to land?

Arriving in the center of Williston Village, the rain suddenly slowed to sprinkles. 34 degrees. Only one mile north of Williston Village, directly in front of the Williston Fire Station, the road turned from wet to dry, just like that; the scales, balancing once again. Beginning to relax, I turn up the radio. It's going to be okay. The cleaners in Newark are on easy street tonight.